


Most Nights I Hardly Sleep (When I'm Alone)

by ElloPoppet, hawkguyandthewinterdude



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Epistolary, Guilt, Humor, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Letters, M/M, Nicknames, Panic Attacks, Pen Pals, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Russian Natasha Romanov, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Tony Stark Has A Heart, the slowest of slow burn, Русский | Russian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloPoppet/pseuds/ElloPoppet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkguyandthewinterdude/pseuds/hawkguyandthewinterdude
Summary: Following the events of Civil War, Steve and the rest of the Rogues are taken care of in Wakanda while Shuri works to de-program the Winter Soldier. Shortly after, Steve and Tony come back together to work through their shit and team up to ratify the Accords and bring the team in front of the UN in an effort to let the dust settle and move forward.As a result, the Rogues are put on house arrest. Bucky, on the other hand, succumbs to a harsher punishment due to public outcry and political maneuvering. Guilt-ridden and unwilling to fight for himself, Bucky accepts a plea deal and is sent to be imprisoned on the Raft for two years before spending the rest of his life on probation.The good friend that he is, Steve convinces the rest of the team to write to Bucky in order to stave off loneliness. Bucky finds most of the letters contrite, painful, or meaningless. But there's something about Barton's that makes him write back...
Relationships: Bruce Banner/ Thor (mentioned), James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 201
Kudos: 121





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

> After EP and I finished Bated Breath, I knew I wanted to work on another letter project with her. The whole experience was amazing and I loved every second of it. I didn't just want to stop writing letters to her and miss the exhilaration and agonizing days waiting for a new letter.  
> So, this is the second idea we had and decided to go for it. I hope you'll join us on this journey and find as much joy in this as we definitely will.  
> Enjoy this first letter!  
> Love you all,  
> Hawkguyandthewinterdude (seriously.. I need something to shorten this)

Bucky,

this whole situation is so fucked up. I don’t get why you wouldn’t let me and Tony fight for you more. I know, we fought over your decision so many times but I just… why? Why are you letting them do that to you? Treat you like a criminal? All those things the Winter Soldier did, that wasn’t… you. They might have used your body, but that’s all. It wasn’t you who killed those people, who tried to kill me. I mean… come on. If it really had been you in your right mind, you wouldn’t have done that. You fought with me and for me for such a long time. You would never hurt me out of your own volition. 

I keep blaming myself, for what happened to you. For not being fast enough, for not reaching you in time. I keep waking up from the same nightmare, night after night. I see you falling, I hear you screaming and fuck, Bucky… I’m so, so god damn sorry. I left you there. I didn’t even think that you could’ve survived that. I should’ve pushed more. I should’ve… I don’t know what I should have done. I just know that I can’t change it anymore which makes this whole situation even harder.   
When I saw you… found out you survived… it felt like a second chance. A chance to make up for lost time… or something like that but again, I failed and you’re… just out of reach again. 

Why wouldn’t you let us help you? The UN… they would’ve understood! You aren’t a criminal. You don’t need to be locked away on the fucking Raft. And for two whole years! Bucky, please… you can still change your mind. Just say the word and Tony and I will move heaven and earth, hell, the whole fucking universe to get you out of there, to be here, with me, and the others, like you’re supposed to be after being a fucking POW for 70 years.   
I never would’ve agreed to the house arrest if I had known you’d be locked up somewhere else. I don’t want you to be alone for this long. I don’t want you to think that you don’t have friends or a family waiting for you, because you have, alright? And it’s not just me either. Tony, Sam, the whole team loved my idea of sending you letters, to let you know you’re not alone, even though most of us can’t come and visit for now. I also contacted T’Challa, to thank him for the hospitality and of course, princess Shuri for fixing you. She told me there are pictures of you with a whole tribe of goats. I’m still trying to get her to send them to me but no luck so far. I honestly can’t wait to sit down and draw that. It’s definitely gonna go up on the fridge in the communal kitchen. The compound is huge, maybe I should ask Tony what he’d think about our own tribe of goats. You could take care of them, teach the rest of us all your goat-herding knowledge. They could be our official mascots. 

I’m happy you could rest and relax, even though I really didn’t believe T’Challa when he told me you voluntarily moved to the outcrops of the village to herd goats and grow your own crops. Especially with a city this technically advanced and exciting - you know, Clint told me that Agent Coulson owns this car you’d love, that he might even show you once you get out. It wouldn’t surprise me if he let you drive it. I don’t think I told you about the time we met for the first time, right? I was out of the ice for.. jesus, a couple of weeks, maybe a month or two when they wanted to recruit me for the Avengers. Coulson acted to weird, it almost made me uncomfortable. He looked at me like I hung the moon or something. Wanted me to sign some trading cards he collected. Did you know they made trading cards with my face on them? Apparently they also made some with the rest of the Howlies. He’ll probably ask you to sign yours. So anyway, Agent Coulson apparently is a huge fan - so you might as well make the best of it and take that fancy car of his for a spin. 

It feels like fate or whatever might be in charge out there just doesn’t want me to reconnect with you. We never really had time to just talk. Especially after princess Shuri got Hydra out of your head for good. Do you remember more now? From before? Or am I the only one who’s all tangled up in the past? Even after we moved upstate, so many memories come up and now that you’re locked up and out of reach there’s no one I can really talk to about the good old days. 

But… anyway!   
I wanted this to be something to cheer you up, but I don’t think I quite managed that. I miss you, Buck. I miss knowing that you got my six.

Please, at least think about reconsidering.  
Your brother,  
Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> For those of you just starting out, know that the first 9 or so chapters will be letters from a random smattering of Avengers to Bucky. We will get to the back and forth between Clint and Bucky around chapter 9 or 10.
> 
> Thanks and we hope you enjoy!
> 
> -EP & HGWinterdude


	2. Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!
> 
> I've missed you! HGWinterdude and I couldn't keep away for long after finishing Bated Breath, and I'm nothing if not a sucker for epistolary fics :) It feels good to be back after a lil break! And it also feels great to flex my hand at a few other characters at the beginning here. Please enjoy, and as always, thank you for giving us a shot <3
> 
> -EP

Hey, RoboCop-

I thought you might like that better than Tasty Freeze. I know you didn’t say explicitly that that one was off limits, like you did with Manchurian Candidate, but your eye twitched the last time I pulled that one out and that’s usually Very Bad. So, RoboCop it is. 

How far we’ve come from Siberia, am I right? 

Anyway, how’s it hanging? Stupid question. I don’t know what the fuck Steve expects me to write to you, or any of us for that matter. It’s not like you don’t have access to the news there, or like one of us won’t visit you every now and then. Hell, maybe I’ll drop in next time I need to test out a new suit. Or not. I don’t know if you’d want me to? I mean sure, we’ve had our words, made our apologies (yours unnecessary, mine completely fucking necessary, shut up Barnes), I paid for your fancy lawyers, blah blah moving on, but I don’t know if you’d want me to be your visiter. Your options aren’t all that great though, I gotta say. 

Vision made you awfully anxious those few times the two of you met. There’s Ms. Romanov, but yeesh, your history with her might be more sordid than ours, as jealous as it makes me to say, my dear. Hello Kitty is busy running Wakanda (Shuri says hi, though. A lot. She’s pissy that they wouldn’t let you keep your vibranium prosthetic with you on the raft. Did you get to see her pissy while you were there, getting unscrambled and herding sheep? She’s a feisty one. I like the kid)(Also was it sheep or goats? Semantics). 

That would leave Spider-Man and Rhodey. I’m gonna say full stop, all out no to the kid visiting a high security prison in the middle of the ocean regardless of how adorable the only prisoner may be (don’t glare at the paper, Push Pop, I’ve seen your lower lip tremble at the prospect of tying a tie for court. It’s all over, you can’t scare me). And you know. Your crew is all donning their ankle bracelets so. 

It’s me or Rhodey. You like Rhodey. Maybe that should be a question. You like Rhodey? You seemed to, the way you sassed him and all. You probably like him better than me, at least, and buddy? 

Nobody on this spinning rock would blame you. 

Anyway. Now I’m feeling depressed as shit and I imagine this didn’t do much to brighten your day the way that Cap intended so I’ll leave you to it before I descend into a mad spiral of yelling at you for not letting me throw a few more international law experts in your corner to fight tooth and nail before you just decided that you _deserved_ to be cut off from civilization for two fucking years. Because we wouldn’t want that. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry. 

But I digress. That’s Brucey’s line, and I don’t want to take up all his one liners for when he drops you a nice little note himself, which I’m sure he will because he’s one of the good ones. 

For the record, Barnes, you are too, and you shouldn’t be there. Here’s to hoping that two years goes by in the blink of an eye and that we’ll see you on the other side before we all know it. 

You let one of us know if any of Ross’ underlings give you a hard time. They’re under strict instructions to...not. Let us know if the food sucks, or if your mattress is too rough, if they don’t give you blankets or deny you the newspaper or don’t give you your meds if your arm hurts. You’re in prison but it was a plea deal and you’re not there to be tortured you _asshole_ , and I swear to Christ if I hear a single whisper about you denying any of your rights on that floating cinderblock I will not do anything but bitch and whine to Steve but you know what? YOU’LL HEAR ALL ABOUT IT FROM HIM and that’ll be worse than prison and I think you know that. 

And if you want one of who can visit to visit, well. Send word and we’ll be there, got it? Good. I guess Bruce could always come out there too? But to be honest, I don’t even know if Ross would green light that. HA! Green light? Get it? That wasn’t even intentional, I’m just naturally hilarious, as I bet you recall. 

(What the fuck kind of signoff do I use here? Sincerely? Best? Yours? Good Luck, Cowboy?)

Tony


	3. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally forgot to add these!  
> I had so much fun writing Peter! He‘s so cute and so much fun. You can just start babbling and start a couple of thoughts all at once and it somehow works.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!  
> HGWinterdude

Mr. Winter Soldier, White Wolf, Bucky Barnes, Sir,

Captain America asked me to write you a letter! Of course I say yes when Captain America asks me to do something. My whole school followed your trial, and I think they even wanted me to testify, but Mr. Stark got them to back off, because ‘I can’t miss school that much’. I would’ve testified for you, though. I hope you know that. I know we didn’t really have a chance to talk or whatever. But… I webbed you and Falcon to the ground! I hope you’re not mad about that. Mr. Stark didn’t tell me much and I didn’t want to disappoint him, you know?   
And dude! Your metal arm is still so freaking sick! Once you come back from… there, you really have to show me how it works! The mechanics must be so complex! And I heard it’s made of Vibranium now! That is so cool! Are you allowed to keep it while you’re in there? If not, what is the process of removing it? Are those questions rude? I really don’t mean to be rude or inappropriate. I’m really just interested in how it works. I swear!   
Did you know I make my own web fluid? And the web shooters are my own design as well!

Captain Rogers said you used to be a tech nerd before the war and everything. I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like 70 years ago. What kind of groundbreaking tech did they come up at the time? Did you see Elektro and Sparko at one of those science fairs? I think it was first shown in 1939 and 1940. I’ve been trying to convince the people in my class to make that our next field trip but so far, only Ned (he’s my best friend, he also knows I’m Spider Man, even though him finding out was kind of an accident. He came over to finish building his Lego Death Star but I completely forgot and there was this whole thing going on with Liz’s dad and oh wow this whole thing sounds super lame in comparison, but I swear, I totally saved Happy’s (he’s Mr. Stark’s assistant slash driver slash friend) ass because Liz’s dad wanted to steal all the tech and then the plane almost crashed into Coney Island but I could redirect it somehow and so it crashed on the beach and exploded and there was fire everywhere and I didn’t have the suit Mr. Stark made for me because he said I didn’t deserve it. So I was only wearing my own crappy suit, that I made myself, but I still managed to save Liz’s dad. But he was a bad guy so I webbed him up with all the boxes of tech that were on the plane so nobody would steal them. And I left a note, because I couldn’t stay and wait for someone to come. Because I lost my mask somewhere and yeah, secret identity and everything. So of course I left a note, to let them know it was me who webbed up Liz’s dad. 

Which reminds me, after all of that, Mr. Stark invited me to visit the compound upstate and Happy took me there. And then Mr. Stark even apologized about taking the suit and that he was wrong about me not deserving it and then, holy crap, he showed me this AMAZING suit, you know? And it’s amazing! It looked so great and he said I’d be an asset to the team, and that there are reporters waiting and that I’d get to move to the compound and that I’d get a room beside Vision’s but it was just a test, you know? To see if I understood his whole… lecture or whatever. And seriously..? I’m not ready to be an AVENGER. I mean… I’m only 16. I’m still living with my aunt and I don’t think… I couldn’t just… leave her, you know? And... I DID screw up, a bit, but then I fixed it… somehow. And Mr. Stark even gave me back my suit, not the cool, new, shiney one, which, now that I think about it, do you think that was just a hologram or something? It probably wasn’t real, right? Because why would he… make that suit for me? Because I already got my suit, which is amazing. And so much better than the one I made myself and it was just a test. It wasn’t… he didn’t. Right? I can’t be an Avenger. I’m not… I can't… I don’t deserve that! I mean… I’m not… not like you. 

You! You are going to be an Avenger. You deserve to be on the team! You… know that right? It might not be official yet, or for the next… two years, but once you get back. You’re going to be an Avenger. Even Mr. Stark talked about it. And of course Captain America wants you on the team as well. He talked about you a bit, when he asked me to write this letter. And you are a real hero, you know? Not just a war hero, back then, but… a real one. Like Cap, or Mr. Stark, or, or Hawkeye and Black Widow. You’re one of them. And I can’t wait until they make Merchandise of you too. I mean… is that? That sounded kinda weird, right? Sorry! I’m probably rambling already. I just… wanted to tell you that… I think you’re a hero and not a bad guy and that you don’t deserve to be in prison. I think you deserve to be an Avenger. Because you’re a good guy - a hero. And I look up to you. 

Anyway, I hope this letter isn’t too weird or awkward.   
Kind regards,  
~~Peter Parker~~ _Spider Man  
  
_**PS:** Here is a picture of Elektro and Sparko in case you don’t know what I was talking about!


	4. Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy, but now I want to write a lot more of Sam? *grumbles and opens future fic idea doc*
> 
> I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> -EP

Barnes,

I never thought it would happen, but I think Steve’s become more annoying than you ever were. Don’t take that as a compliment, because the blame’s still on you. He mopes now, man, actually _mopes_. Before, when you were making us chase you all around (so obnoxious), he was focused, in Cap mode, had a task at hand. Now? The guy spent all day yesterday in the ugliest plaid pajama pants and he ate like sixteen bowls of cereal. That might be an exaggeration, but if it is, it’s barely, and I mean a hair’s breadth of an exaggeration. 

You damn super soldiers and your metabolisms. I’ll still never get the image of you pounding down all of those waffles and the bottle of syrup after you got out of cryo. A bottle, dude. It was gross. Impressive, yeah, but so goddamn gross. 

Anyway, our boy? He’s being a brat. And I get it, you know? He spent an awfully long time looking for you (not that I understand why. You’re not all that special. Must be for those cheekbones) just to watch you sign on a dotted like saying “sure, two years away for killing all those folks that I didn’t want to kill and didn’t actually kill? Seems fair. Bye.” 

I’m not telling you this to make you feel like shit. I won’t beg you to believe me, either, because as much as I hate to admit it I know you’re a smart man. I tell you this to get two things out of the way with this little exercise that Steve’s cajoled most of us into. First, to tell you that you shouldn’t be a total dick to Steve when these letters roll in, or when someone starts with visits, or when Stark inevitably starts calling in favors to get you special treatment. Put aside your guilt complex, grit your teeth and accept it, all of the nice gestures that you might not think you deserve right now, because Steve needs you to do that. I know you don’t want to hurt him, and I don’t want to see him hurt. And seeing that I’m the one on house arrest with the angsting Symbol of Freedom himself, let’s say that you grinning and bearing it is a personal favor to me. You still owe me a steering wheel, Barnes, so we’ll call it even. 

Second, I’m telling you that you made a shitty choice and that everyone here is perplexed by it not to make you feel like shit or add to your impressive ocean of guilt, but to tell you that I get it. We’ve talked about Riley, man. You remember what you told me?

“You’re an idiot, Wilson. What more could you have done? Wasn’t your fault, but shit, I’m far from being in a place to judge how you wanna pay the penance you feel like you deserve to pay, so I guess I’ll just sit with you while you do it. Also, have I ever told you you have beautiful eyes?”

Yeah, I know. I might be paraphrasing that last bit, or making it up entirely, but let’s be real. My eyes are glorious, and the thing about letters is you can’t even sass me back in real time.

So I guess what I’m saying, since Steve puppy-dog-eyed us into this little exercise, is that even though I’m not crazy enough to have volunteered to walk my ass back onto that water-doughnut (sorry, but fuck that thing. I hated it there. I hate that you’re there), I’m sitting here with you while you pay the penance you feel like you deserve to pay. I don’t agree. It wasn’t your fault, but I’m far from being in a place to judge.

Don’t lose your mind in there, Vanilla Ice. You’re not all that bad when you’re not trying to actively murder me, and since that part of you has been effectively “yeeted into oblivion” according to the Princess, then I guess you’re just not all that bad. House arrest would be a lot less awful with you around to help keep me sane with these imbeciles, but I’ll make due until you get back. 

Get some rest. Eat all their waffles. Pay your penance, but leave that guilt shit there when you come home. 

Sam


	5. Natalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this took a little longer, but here is a new very tiny, short chapter!  
> There were quite a few of you confused I think, about when Clint and Bucky would finally appear, and fear not, it will happen either by chapter 9 or 10, depending on how my (our) muse strikes!  
> From then on, it will be a back on forth between Clint and Bucky, a lot like in our first fic "Bated Breath"
> 
> For now, it's another couple of chapters of other Avengers sending letters to Bucky!  
> I hope you enjoy that just as much!  
> Lots of love,  
> HGWinterdude

Джеймс,

Как ты уже, наверное, знаешь, Стив заставляет нас отправлять тебе письма, чтобы ты не чувствовал себя таким одиноким или, вернее, чтобы тебе стало лучше. Я думаю, что он - мешок дерьма. Ты уже знаешь, что я думаю о твоем решении, так что, чтобы Стив отстал от меня, вот один из моих любимых рецептов.

Для рецепта тебе понадобится двести грамм сливочного масла, пять куриных яиц, триста грамм муки, половин стакана сахара, полторы чайных ложки разрыхлителя, пятьсот грамм сметаны, три столовые ложки ванильного сахара и два грамма ванилина.  
Натираешь сливочное масло на крупной терке. Масло не должно быть очень мягким. Лучше предварительно его немного подержать в морозилке. Добавляешь сахар, одно куриное яйцо и просеиваешь муку с разрыхлителем. Замешиваешь тесто и скатываешь в шар.

Форму смазываешь сливочным маслом. Раскатываешь тесто скалкой и с ее помощью переносишь в форму (бортики должны быть выстой примерно 5-6 сантиметров).  
Потом переходишь к начинке - миксером взбиваешь оставшиеся яйца, сметану, сахар (четыре столовых ложки), ванильный сахар и ванилин. Выливаешь на тесто и отправляешь в разогретую до ста восьмидесяти грудков духовку на один час.  
После выключаешь духовку и не открываешь дверцу, пока пирог не остынет.  
После чего вынимаешь из духовки и из формы и пирог готов.

Держи голову выше,  
Наталья

**Translation:**

James,

as you probably already know, Steve is making us send letters to you, to make you feel less lonely or rather to make himself feel better. I think he’s full of shit. You already know what I think about your decision, so, to get Steve off my back, here is one of my favourite recipes.

[Recipe for amazing smetannik]

Keep your chin up,  
Natalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this whole chapter is in Russian!  
> The first paragraph I wrote myself and the rest of the "letter" is literally a recipe for "smetannik" - some sort of cheesecake that's typically Russian! I had this idea pop into my head that Nat would be a little shit and be like... nah, Imma write this shit in Russian and since Steve can't read it anyway - it can literally be anything - so here is a recipe for amazing russian cake!  
> If you guys want, I can totally add an English translation at the bottom! (At least for my paragraph - the recipe works quite okay on google translate, I checked ;D)  
> At this point, I want to thank Ayara (ayarasky on tumblr) for translating this for me and coming up with the recipe! Thank you so much darling! You were such a big help to make this silly vision of mine come to live!


	6. Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *sigh*
> 
> I adore Bruce, just, so much.
> 
> I hope you do as well! 
> 
> Only one more Avenger letter for me to write, and 1-2 more from HGWinterdude, before I start writing for Clint and I am so excited! I miss our resident competent idiot with a heart of gold 💜
> 
> -EP

Hello James,

Steve assured me that it wouldn’t be strange, me sending you a letter along with everyone else even though we don’t know each other well. I know we only spent a brief amount of time together before you made your deal with the UN, and I’m sure this will be much less personal and therefore provide less comfort than the letters from the others. Sorry about that. I felt compelled to do it anyway, because you seemed like a nice guy and honestly? I think maybe when you get out, if you come back to where the team is and if we’re still all around (by that, I think I mean if I’m still around; I have a tendency to disappear sometimes. I don’t love to, but there are times when I deem it necessary for the sake of safety) you and I might find that we have a few things in common. 

When we met, you met me as Bruce. Pretty sure I was introduced as both Brucey Bear and Dr. Banner, because I met you with Tony and Steve, respectfully. You didn’t meet the Other Guy, but I’d be shocked if you weren’t familiar with Hulk. He’s...how would I describe him?

Hulk’s hard to miss and practically impossible to be unaware of. 

For the longest time, Hulk and I had absolutely no relationship with one another, though we shared my body. I basically got pushed aside whenever my anger took over while he got to be the pilot, a destructive force that caused mayhem, violence, death and destruction on a level that was unfathomable. I’m not a violent person, James. Especially now at this point in my life, I crave peace. Resolution. Calm. 

Luckily, Hulk and I are advancing, together. Learning to co-pilot, both of us learning self-control. It’s a positive thing, and I see him as less of a curse or burden and more of a fact of life and a piece of myself every single day. 

I wouldn’t be able to blame you if you’ve already stopped reading, or if you’ve rolled your eyes out of your skull by this point. Your experience with HYDRA and the Winter Soldier is so far removed from my and Hulk’s experience that they’re nearly incomparable, with the exception of some overlap; I know what it’s like to take a backseat to the actions of my body, to wake up with blood on my hands, to carry burdens that I didn’t decide to carry. I’ve tried to exile myself through distance, and means both temporary, longer term and as permanent as they come. Exile can come with its own burdens, and this is why I really wanted to write to you. If I can extend an offer of future friendship, let me do so by offering some incredibly unsolicited advice (that’s a good way to go about building relationships, right? Unsolicited advice? I’m not the best at social bonding, James, or so I’ve been told). 

Meditate. I’ve sent a book on the basics of meditation. When your cell starts to feel suffocating, you can use your mind and body to escape. You have the power to do that, now. This isn’t a command, of course, but rather a suggestion from one fucked up monster to a fucked up man who believes himself to be one as well. 

Eat well. I’ve been informed that Tony gets to approve your food on the Raft. I don’t know what your preferences are for your diet, but if you’d like I can add in some tea suggestions, caffeinated or non-caffeinated. Tea helps me feel calmer or gives me more energy when I want it to. Tony insists that it makes me a hippie and then gets offended when I manage to still take his ass down on the sparring mat in my soft scientist-human form. 

Do something creative. I know all of this shit is making me sound like a new wave life coach, I swear to you that I really do know that. Things sound cliche for a reason. Steve seems pretty sure that you’re not going to be writing us back and that’s your prerogative (I don’t know that I would feel inclined, either), but having an outlet for all of the horrible shit that you are going to need to process is going to be important. You’re alone on that floating prison, James, unless you want to make friendly with one of your guards. So sing out loud, or make shitty drawings, write whatever the hell you want, find some way to get that rage and pain out of your body. Don’t poison yourself. You don’t deserve that. 

Also? Creative strings of swearing. Sometimes when I’m frustrated as hell but don’t want to deal with the fallout or exhaustion of going green, I lay in my bed and come up with the most ridiculous strands of curse words that I possibly can. I did it at the breakfast table once, got into it with Tony over a formula that he swore would work but really would have filled the lab with a noxious gas. I’m really very sorry that you weren’t privvy to the look on Steve’s face when I called Tony an “idiotic fucking douchetacular twat shingle.”

I will do my best to get him to recreate that face when you get home, you know, if we’re all still home as well. 

Until then, James, take care, and let Steve or Tony know about the tea. Or me, if you’d like, but no pressure. 

Bruce Banner


	7. Rhodey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Second to last before it's gonna be me and Buck for quite some time!
> 
> I really enjoyed writing Rhodey. At first I struggled a little but last night when I finished it, I really loved writing him.  
> I love him as a character and he's criminally underrated in the MCU. 
> 
> On another note:  
> Only two more letters to go after this before it's finally Clint's turn! I'm so excited and I hope to get my last "other character" done before the weekend. And then - anxiously awaiting EPs take on Clint's letter. I'm pretty sure she's going to make me cry. Probably.

Barnes,

I know we didn’t really get a chance to talk all that much with me in hospital for quite a while and during the trial; well, there just never seemed to be a good time either. I’m not even sure you know what happened after you and Steve took the quinjet to get to Siberia.   
I just, man, in case you are blaming yourself for that as well, please don’t. It wasn’t Vision’s fault, it wasn’t Wanda’s either and it definitely wasn‘t yours. All of that was fucking stupid and really, on all of us. Not just you, not just Steve, not just Tony or me. 

None of us had all the info at the time and quite honestly, if someone tried to kill Tony like T’Challa did - I would’ve moved heaven and earth to save him too. I followed the trial, Tony and Sam kept me updated while I recovered and eventually I even took the stand.    
And I stand by my words. I don’t think you deserve to be locked up. I believe that you aren’t ‘the Winter Soldier’ at least not… like  _ that _ . Tony was hurting. He was grieving and he... hell, he’s not the most rational on a good day. I really owe so much to him, so it’s hard for me to say this.   
But Tony got one of the biggest hearts, probably even the biggest heart of all the people I know. When he could think straight again, he immediately regretted what he did. He immediately started fighting for you, for Steve and Clint, Sam, Scott and Wanda. And he would’ve continued to fight if you had let him.   


I keep trying to find things we got in common, what I could talk about that you can relate to. I thought about telling you about the time I met Tony for the first time, because the more I think about it, the more it seems that Steve to you, is so much like Tony is to me; he was fifteen, barely... and he became my roommate at MIT. First I thought it was some dumb joke, but then that kid opened his mouth for the first time and I knew he‘d achieve something amazing, something great. 

There are  _ so _ many stories that I could tell you, but I honestly don‘t know if you‘d even want to hear them. 

Then, I think about what happened. I keep having nightmares. And Jesus, something about this letter writing must be seriously therapeutic because I think you‘re the first one I’m admitting that to, aside from a therapist. I remember. Falling, I mean. I remember every agonizing fucking second of it. I remember how it got hard to breathe, I remember not being able to tell up from down. I remember being completely cut off from Tony and the others. It was dark - in the suit. And I could hardly breathe and I… I don’t know how long I was falling for, but I know that I was waiting for Tony to catch me. I’m not really a religious person, but I was praying that he’d get to me, that he’d grab my hand and just… catch me. But he didn’t. I think I heard him scream. He shouted my name, but I’m not sure if it was before or after I hit the ground. And I must’ve blacked out pretty quickly after that, but hitting the ground, that feeling, it keeps haunting me, even more so than the falling does.   
I’m not even going to ask if you remember falling better than hitting the ground.

But, I believe, Steve suggested we try and cheer you up, and none of that was particularly cheerful - sorry about that. I think it’s this whole… writing a letter thing. On the one hand it feels so personal and intimate, but on the other hand it’s almost freeing and anonymous because you never have to watch the recipient read your letter.  
Again, sorry that I sort of failed this assignment rather spectacularly.

Anyway - If you ever decide you want a visitor and don’t feel up to ‘everything’ that is Tony - just let me know. I can bring burgers, or, whatever you want, really. Just say the word and I’ll make time for a visit.

No hard feelings,  
James Rhodes


	8. Wanda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pulls out paper and pen to start on Clint's letter*
> 
> *winks into the camera like it's the Office*
> 
> *even though there's no camera*
> 
> *okay bye*
> 
> -EP

Hello James.

Steve told everyone to write to you, but then told me I didn’t have to if I didn’t feel like it. He treats me differently sometimes. Sometimes like a child, other times like a soldier. There are times I don’t mind either one. What it says about me, I don’t know, but I did think that maybe if there is anyone who understands being treated like a child and a soldier by Steve, it’s you.

He means well. Sometimes I want to ask him for a hug. I know he would give me one. Other times I want to magic the look of pity off of his face. You know the one. I don’t have to explain it to you. He looks like a pupp. Clint insists they are called Golden Retrievers. I just asked him what kind of a dog Steve looks like, and that is what he said and I trust him not to lie to me, so there. Your best friend is a Golden Retriever. 

I already feel like I am off topic, not that I had a specific topic in mind. I am maybe wondering if I should have taken the chance that Steve gave me to not write to you, but no. I wanted to, even if just to say that I’m sorry. You might shudder to hear those words from someone like me, someone who chose to work for the beasts who enslaved you. We did not get much time together, you and I, not much at all, but I do hope it was enough for you to know how deeply my regrets for my past decisions run. It is my hope that I will have time in the future to show you that I can be trusted. I do not expect the fact that your Retriever trusts me to be enough for you, not after what the scum did to you. 

Even if you don’t have reason to trust me or want to accept sympathy from me, at least I am hoping that you will accept my empathy. Even though Steve did not let us rot there, the Raft was not a place I would wish upon most, my enemies included. The rocking of the sea I remember to be unpleasant, everything feeling and smelling like metal, the isolation even when I could see others from across the way. 

All of that not to make you feel isolated, or seasick. Just to know that if you need to talk to anyone and you’re going down the list and come to my name, I know where you are and what the days and nights feel like. Consider it an open invitation of sorts. While you are there, where we were, we will all be here, staring at different walls and each other’s faces, remembering what it was like to be where you are. We will worry about you and want you home with us. It is worth remembering, is it not? When you step off of that boat-hell, you will not have to return to a tube. You will return to a home and a family. 

You have people, James. Don’t forget that. 

Wanda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my previous works, you'll notice a pattern. That pattern? That Steven Grant Rogers is a very specific breed of doggo. I make no apologies.


	9. Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Thor,  
> This chapter - I researched about 30 different hair care videos, from protective hair styles to sleep in to magical potions to make your hair grow faster than ever before, until I found what I wanted.  
> I also rewatched Thor because it's been... ages and I couldn't quite remember all the details..
> 
> But, eventually, I had so much fun writing Thor and I really hope I managed to capture his character.

Dear friend - Soldier of Winter!

You might wonder why I am writing to you, since we never really met, but you know our friend and Captain, Steven, best of all, and it is very hard (almost impossible even I would reckon) to say no to that face; those beautiful eyes. I am half convinced he knows some witchcraft but it is not very common here on Midgard, so I presume it has something to do with the enhancement he received - the ‘serum’ he calls it. 

But I shall not digress! Our friend Steven is worried you might be lonely and that you might need some elation and comfort in the form of these letters that all of us, the Avengers - new and old - are sending to you. 

For the longest time I was pondering what to write. Since I was mostly off world after the battle of Sokovia, after the Vision was created, I only recently learned about all the events and battles that took place while I was away with my dearest  ~~friend~~ , Dr. Banner. 

I am devastated to hear what had been done to you, my friend. And then being sent to prison, treated like a criminal. Sent there to rot almost equal to being banished… it digs deep into old wounds I, myself suffered before I met our friends and team.  
Back when I was younger and, my brother Loki would also say, a lot more stupid, I led many great warriors into battle. I was one of the greatest warriors, was meant to be king, but my father Odin, he thought I wasn’t worthy of wielding the hammer, of becoming king of Asgard. I acted foolish, almost caused a war between my world and Jotunheim. Only confirming what the allfather already knew. So he banished me. Stripped me of my powers, and sent me to Midgard for what could’ve been forever. 

My brother (though I must admit he is adopted) lied to me, tried to kill me and assassinate our father so he could have the throne and rule over the nine realms, but much has happened since then. I found out I had a sister, Hela, goddess of death, and we didn’t quite get along I must say, though she could wield my hammer, Mjölnir.

It was also then that I cruelly was robbed of my luscious, beautiful, long blonde hair. For a short while I was held prisoner on a planet called Sakaar where I was forced to fight as a gladiator and when they captured me, they simply cut off my hair. Oh how I miss my hair. Bruce (my darling) keeps telling me he likes this new, short version just as much, but I’m still mourning the loss of my hair, of them taking that choice from me, of them forcing me to look the way they wanted me to.

I asked our Captain if you keeping your hair long was an active choice of yours, or if you wish to change it, but he said you told him once that now that it’s clean and cared for, you've come to like your beautiful, long hair. 

So, I wanted to send you a small something - that shall help you with keeping your locks luscious and shiny even with limited resources. You will find shea butter and coconut oil as well as a small vial of argan oil for that bit of extra shine and moisture - all things Anthony assured me you would be allowed to keep. Bruce told me he wrote about recommending tea, so here is an herbal blend that will vitalize your hair, as well as make a wonderfully calming cup of tea.  
Just combine the shea butter and coconut oil, add just a bit of argan oil and about a spoonful of the herbs (lavender, just a bit of peppermint and hibiscus) and stir until it turns into a soft paste. I recommend using this hair mask approximately once a week.

I hope this letter as well as my small gifts will accomplish the difficult task of lifting your spirits and bringing you a bit of joy in this difficult time. Do not hesitate to contact me shall the need for more product arise.

In solidarity, your friend,  
Thor Odinson


	10. Clint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!
> 
> Have a letter from Clint :D
> 
> For those of you who read our other fic, Bated Breath, you may (or may not? No pressure!) remember that I was writing for Bucky and HGWinterdude was writing for Clint that time around. We switched things up this go 'round, so don't be thrown by the handwriting...and that said, excuse my trashy handwriting ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thank you for all of the love and support thus far!
> 
> -EP

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/170205563@N04/49832544082/in/photostream/lightbox/)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/170205563@N04/49832544227/in/photostream/lightbox/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/170205563@N04/49832236041/in/photostream/lightbox/)

Barnes - 

I don’t know if you know this or not, but you’re in my old box on the floating monstrosity from hell. I only know because Tony told me you were, and Tony knew to tell me because I might’ve made the suggestion that you go into my good ole’ home-away-from-home-away-from-barn. And it was a strongly worded suggestion. 

Because here’s the deal. 

If Strangford is still there (he was the night guard, I think, but who the fuck-all knows, right? Because night and day with no windows, good luck keeping track), that means he’ll leave you the hell alone and sit at the guard desk on his computer, watching Netflix and sometimes Amazon Prime and if you’re real lucky, he’ll watch some good shit on HBO. And how do I know this? Because the reflection from his screen bounces off of the left most cell and if you sit in the bottom right corner of ~~my~~ your cell? Clear as day. It’s small, but your eyes are all serum-ed and shit, so you should get the picture. 

Ha. Get the picture. Miss me yet?

I don’t know what these other clowns are putting down in their Dear John letters, but I figured you could use something to help keep you sane in there. Seems like they’re closing down the rest of the raft for the next two years, so congratulations! You get the place to yourself. Which means it’s gonna be boring as balls, buddy. At least we could hear each other if we yelled. Not that we did, much. Didn’t have much to talk about that we wanted overheard, you know? 

But sometimes Lang would start singing, right, and Wilson would either tell him to knock it the fuck off or join in, depending on the day, and if I was in the mood I’d do the same. Sometimes I figured it’d help Wanda out. It did the trick every now and then. Still does, actually. All I gotta do is whistle one of those annoying songs that he used to sing and she’ll smile. It’s not too bad. The best is that when Scott does it? She gives him that death glare of hers and it shuts him up real quick. It’s my favorite thing.

You? You got it bad. We’re over here living on top of one another at the compound. The huge, gigantic, sprawling compound. Lucky’s here, you remember my dog? You met him once, after Wakanda and before your trial. You could be here playing with a dog. But nooooo. You decided to pull some shit, Barnes. To basically just waltz onto the raft for a two year solitary-confinement nap of guilt and boredom. Dumbass. 

Your call, though. 

Hey, I have a question. Well, less of a question, because it has a punchline, so I guess it’s more of a joke. I read it online the other day, and you’ll either love it or hate it but either way you’re two years away from being able to kick my ass so why not. A-hem:

Why don’t I have to be worried about being shot by Bucky Barnes?

I’ll let you stew on it. It’s a joke, by the way, so don’t get melancholic on me, you deprogrammed ex-assassin, you.

Peace, Barnes.

-Barton

PS: You know. I almost mailed this stupid thing as is but couldn’t without adding this because I had nightmares about what my therapist might say if I didn’t. I get why you chose the raft. I get the stupid-ass guilt. I didn’t deserve to be on that piece of shit sea-jail for ‘breaking the accords’ or whatever, but I felt like I deserved to be there because of what I did back in 2012. So I’m sorry for calling you a dumbass. Maybe. A little sorry. 

PPS: Also I’m an impatient child and you might not write me back so. I don’t have to worry about being shot by Bucky Barnes because he’s not fully armed. Ba-Dum-Tss. Laugh, asshole, it’s funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the truly delightful joke over at wonderfullybadjokes.tumblr.com


	11. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS! Bucky's first letter after a flood of letters from all the Avengers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was ~~am~~ super nervous what you guys think! it's more or less the first time I'm writing just for/as Bucky and I'm yeah... hella nervous.  
> I hope you enjoy it and like it and I hope it feels and sounds like our Bucky!  
> Your support means everything!  
> Love you guys  
> HGWinterdude

  
  


Dumbass, impatient child (aka Barton - in case that wasn’t clear),

this has been the tenth fucking letter I received since I got here, about three weeks ago. And this is the first reply that I seriously wanted to write.  
I didn’t know I was in your old box, wouldn’t have guessed since there are no pictures of arrows, dogs or even dicks scraped into the wall under the bed or onto the bed frame.  
But let me guess, that was just because you had nothing sharp enough to use to carve into anything? Everything in here is so fucking soft and _squishy_. It feels like I’d snap that stupid fork if I glared at it too long. I’m pretty sure the knives would lose against too hard butter. They almost didn’t give me a pen when I asked for one. They handed me an empty notebook and I was… too baffled to even say anything. Like… am I supposed to fucking lick the letters on the paper? Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck do they think I’ll do in here? I _decided_ to come here. I’m gonna damn well serve my time here _without_ killing me or somebody else.

I honestly don’t know if I’d rather have other people here or not. I mean… who would they even put in here with me? Zemo? Or that guy that Parker webbed up - Liz’s dad?

I think at least three quarters of the team referred to Stevie as a Golden Retriever or a puppy and kept complaining about him moping and being extra sad. I’m sorry he’s insufferable because of me. But I just, I need some time still. I’ll write to him eventually, or… something. But, I can’t right now. I can’t deal with his guilt and his anger ~~on top of mine~~ right now. Not, not right now. I read all your letters and you are one of the few who didn’t right out question my decision to take the deal. Being called a dumbass, yeah, I guess that’s fair, but you. You’re not trying to make me change my mind, you don’t question it. You just accepted my decision and I really needed that. So… thanks for that too, I guess.  
And I think you were the only one to make me snort. Not quite laugh, but I got close. Fucking stupid puns.

Thanks for getting me into your box. I’ll let you know if Strangford watched anything good. Maybe we could even talk about that sometime. Never really watched anything “new”. Aside from the news or that strangely captivating Romanian soap opera when I was on the run. The hut in Wakanda didn’t have a TV, or a radio or much of anything really. I liked spending time with the goats. Don’t tell him, but I called the ugliest, dumbest one Sam. It kept stumbling over the same fucking rock every. Damn. Time. Always made me laugh.

I don’t know if that’s even possible, and I know it’s probably unfair to ask you to keep something from your ~~team~~ friend, but would you… maybe not tell Steve I responded to your letter? At least… not for now? Can’t have him mope even more because I didn’t reply to his dumb letter. But I think I would’ve just told him he’s an idiot and to leave me alone. And that didn’t quite seem like the thing he would’ve wanted or could’ve handled right now. Stupid self-sacrificing punk. I know he means well. But right now I just need him to accept it. He doesn’t need to understand my reasoning or whatever. And it’s too raw still, for him. (Probably for me as well.) He thinks he’s letting me down and he doesn’t get it that I need this. That I need to be here for my own peace of mind. I need to do this. I need _some_ ~~punishment~~ _consequence_ for the things ~~they made me do~~ I did. And this seemed like the best thing for now.  
I couldn’t go back into that courtroom. I just couldn’t. All the fighting and the lawyers and Steve trying to put his head through the wall for me.  
There’s so much I need to atone for. And this - here - at least feels like a start.

Anyway, enough of that for now.

-The other dumbass (Barnes)

PS: No need to apologize or feel sorry at all. Not even a little bit.

PPS: I really thought it was because I was ~~h~~ armless. But yeah, makes sense. But just an FYI: that equally hot and scary strangling-someone-with-your-thighs move that Natalia loves to use - she learned that from me. And I wouldn’t even need arms for that.


	12. Clint

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/170205563@N04/49894177516/in/dateposted/)

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[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/170205563@N04/49894178026/in/photostream/)

First of all, I’ve chosen not to dignify your petulance by granting you a proper title. Only I’m allowed to call myself names.

I haven’t decided if I think you responded to me in the hopes that it would stop the onslaught of letters or if you’re already so bored after less than a month that a few attempts at bad humor were enough to tickle your fancy. I won’t bitch too much, I suppose, but I gotta say I feel a bit of pressure here. Have you seen Steve? Like really looked into those soulful baby blues? I feel like he’s gonna take one look at me and know I’m hiding something. You’re lucky I’m damn good undercover, thou-who-is-undeserving-of-a-name-right-now, but I make no promises if there’s a Steve Rogers lip-wobble involved.

You know, Steve’s not insufferable because of you, so shut it. Steve’s insufferable because of Steve, and also a little bit because I think he’s lonely. He has us, sure, and he hangs out with Sam and Nat pretty much all the time, but it’s just that we really don’t know what it’s like, you know? I think he keeps hopin that you’ll be around eventually so that he has someone to reminisce with. I don’t even know if that’s what it’s gonna be like, though, is it? I didn’t know you before (duh), I barely got the chance to know you before Shuri got those fucks out of your head, and even less after. I might be over stepping here, but how much of you is Steve’s Bucky? Do you even know?

Welp. Just hit me that maybe it isn’t the best plan to get you all insightful while you’re in the box. Maybe I should be a little less stung with you calling me a dumbass. I’m just curious about you, I guess, and it turns out writing on paper is a little like trolling around online. It’s a lot easier to put shit into words without you murder-glaring all over the place. 

That was another joke. Laugh, Barnes. 

So, Strangford is still there then! Good. He’s not bad people. He’s got a kid and a husband (Scott got him roped into conversation a few times, I fuckin swear, dude can get anyone to talk about anything, he woulda made a great agent) and generally won’t give you any shit if you don’t shovel it first. Not that I ever tried (me being an angel and all) but Sam got tetchy with him when we first got in here. Strangford didn’t do anything drastic, just got real pissy and kept the lights off the first night. Honestly, I think that was him following some kinda ‘protocol’ and it mighta sucked worse for him than it did for us, because it never happened again, even after more snark from Sam and a bit of scariness from Wanda. Hopefully you get to see some Westworld (your cyborg ass would love that shit) or even some Dog Cops (you’d probably hate it but the thought of you watching it fills me with glee) with him on shift.

Protip: If things feel too soft, the cleanest part of your cell is the floor beneath your bed. Take your blanket and pillow and set up underneath your bunk. Or just your blanket if you really are a sociopath who doesn’t even want the comfort of a pillow. Who knows. Give ‘em a heads up, though, so they don’t think you’re being shady. You gotta keep in mind, they’re probably a bit guarded (Guards? Guarded? I’m tryin here) about giving pointy and sharp shit to the dude who willingly signed up to be there for two years. Remember, not everyone will ‘get it,’ Barnes. From their perspective, offing yourself might not seem out of the realm of possibility. For what it’s worth, I’m glad they gave you the pen. 

I’m gonna bop on outta here in a minute, for what I’m sure will be a SUPER FUN day of drills. Steve and Tony decided that us Rogues are likely to get bored and go stir crazy if we lack ‘structure’ and therefore I’m on a fucking schedule now three days a week. I, for one, call bullshit. Nat tells me to suck it up and put on my big boy pants. I’m sorry, but last time I checked being on house arrest was punishment enough, but now I have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn (when I should be crawling into bed like a regular PTSD-ridden asshole) to go on a team run and do gym drills? They are letting me lead archery and handgun practices so I should shut the fuck up, but you’re so easy to whine to, piece-of-paper/Barnes. 

Here’s to hoping you’re not losing it quite yet. You’ve made it a month so far; 23 of them bitches left to go. Have you learned anything interesting after spending a month at sea?

I’ll see ya when I see ya, dumbass.

-Barton

PS: Sam tripped while he was running yesterday. The urge to bleat at him was nearly unbearable. Fucker. 

PPS: It’s nobody’s business why you did what you did and why you are where you are. You do you, boo (or whatever the kids are saying these days. I’d ask the Spiderling but I don’t care enough).


	13. Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything to say for myself. I'm really sorry this took me this freaking long to finally get done. I wanted to get sooooooo much done but idk what happened. I just couldn't motivate myself to sit down and write this until today.  
> But enough rambling for now. I am so sorry for the wait! Enjoy this chapter of Bucky finally replying to Clint!
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking around!  
> HGWinterdude
> 
> TW: Language referencing suicide (no actual act/ideation)

  
  


Transcript:

Mr. Clinton F. Barton, Sir,

wouldn’t my asking you to keep this to yourself defeat the purpose of writing back to you? Since nobody knows I am actually communicating with one of you and the flood of letters would just… continue? But anyway... I wish I could tell you that constant exposure is key to immunity but… that damn punk keeps switching up his puppy eyes and adds shit like a lip-wobble or something and you’re doomed. DOOMED.   
Guess I’ll find out sooner or later if you kept that secret or if the Puppy Eyes and Lip-Wobble TM broke you. 

You don’t know that, but it took me a while to get back to this after you made me think about that whole thing. I get that the punk is lonely and that he misses his old pal, but I’m not him. Shuri helped a lot, I got memories back from a former life, but to be honest… I don’t really feel like Bucky ~~at all~~ much. There’s so much that happened to that guy even before Hydra got me and even if he’d made it out of there and got to live his life after the war… that wouldn’t have been Bucky either. Not the one Steve so desperately wants back, anyway.  
Steve’s different as well. Different from what I remember from before he beefed up a thousand percent and even different from the Steve during the war. He still got a lot of the same traits. Stubborn as all fuck for one, but I don’t think I ever saw him pick up a sketchbook or draw something in general. He used to do that all the time. Helped him think he said. But yeah… to come back to your actual question. I don’t know. But… and it… scares me what this would do to Steve if he ever read this, I don’t think any part of me is Bucky. Something inside of me recoils when I’m called that. Some part of me wants to just ignore it because that isn’t me and I… ~~I just want to be _me_ , you know? I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not to make someone else feel better. ~~ I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to be him again. But how would I even do that? How do you get back that kind of ~~happiness~~ optimism and naivety? 

Fuck, okay. You’re probably wondering if I decided to stop replying to you as well, but I… I think I had a panic attack? Or something like that? Spooked the guards alright. But hey… they let me keep the pen and everything. But yeah, I didn’t really feel like writing recently and my heart started racing whenever I tried to pick up this letter and keep going. But I guess… I’m… better. No more insight for a while though. 

Would you believe me if I said I laughed? You probably wouldn’t call me a liar, right? At least not to my face - for at least another 22 months? That was a joke as well. See. I’m totally fine. And I’m laughing. 

I tried that tip about the floor beneath the bed, and honestly, why exactly would that be the cleanest part? Isn’t that usually the place people don’t bother cleaning under? And why is that space more important than the rest of the cell? Tell me, Barton, what did you do so they had to clean under here? Or don’t tell me. I’m not sure I wanna know. But anyway. I used my words, told them their beds sucked and that I would be sleeping under it from now on and Strangford only looked at me like I’m a lunatic for like five minutes or something and then he just told me to “not do anything shifty and we’re good”. Can you believe that guy? Shifty? Me? As if I would ever be anything even remotely close to ‘shifty’. The nerve of that guy.   
But yeah, as you said, he’s not bad people. He had the night shift last night and he watched some show, I have no idea what it’s called but it was mostly about three guys, people died… I’m not really good at summaries I think. Sorry.

I’m… They don’t need to ‘get’ why I decided to do what I did. No one does. I just… I’m not suicidal. Why is that so hard to understand? I had access to quite a few pointy and sharp objects while I was out there. Wouldn’t I have offed myself long before deciding to stay in here for two years without much human contact or any contact to people I’d consider friends? But… now that I wrote that down, it does sound quite depressing. Maybe they got a point. Maybe. 

But yeah. I really hope that a month full of drills and workouts and structure was SUPER FUN. If you let me know your schedule maybe I can coordinate my workouts? You know like ‘a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved’? Even if it’s just in spirit. And you have to take my word for it that I actually got up at the asscrack of dawn with you. Or… not? I mean I’m pretty limited in here. Can’t exactly run anywhere. But I can still do push ups which I can’t even cheat at because not fully armed… remember? 

~~-James  
~~~~-Barnes  
~~-James

PS: I’m sorry for calling you names. I just… I don’t know. Guess my “people skills” are “rusty”. (Hah. Get that reference? - If you did, that’s what Strangford watched last night and I’m so confused. And intrigued? How do I make him watch that from the beginning? I like the short one best. The one with the rusty people skills. He’s relatable.)

Also, thanks for… maybe not understanding, but for… not questioning my choices.   
  


PPS:  ಠ_ಠ  (it’s supposed to be me ‘murder-glaring’ at you.)   
~~Kinda hope it made you laugh.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone guess the show Strangford was watching?


	14. Clint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!
> 
> So...both HGWinterDude and I are in grad school now. That is my disclaimer as to why it took me nearly two months to get this letter up? Sorry! But also...grad school is a bitch ♥
> 
> Love y'all and hope you enjoy!
> 
> — EP

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James (you’ve earned it, I GUESS)-

Aah, yes. You wouldn’t truly be a Raft Resident without having a panic attack or twelve. Zero judgement here, trust me when I say that would be incredibly hypocritical. Call me disappointed that you went through that, but not surprised. And that’s not me calling you out on your personal mental health issues, of which I’m sure there are plenty (thanks, WWII and HYDRA!), but c’mon, how are you NOT supposed to get all claustrophobic-y in a cell in the ocean? 

Uh. Not to, like, remind you of that or anything. See, this is why I’m not a therapist. That and about a zillion other fucking reasons. Holy shit, could you imagine? Me? A therapist? HA! There’s your joke of the day/week/year/century. 

That’s not to say that maybe I can’t help you out a bit though? Fun fact: the reason I curled up under the bed the first time was to try to feel a bit more grounded. I like to make myself feel small, it helps me. Helps to be high up, but hey, not really an option in there, you know? So when I couldn't be high up, balling up and applying pressure helped. And when I was under there rolly-polly-ing it up, I noticed the slats on the underside of the bed. Counting them helped a fucking TON. Forward, backward, in every language that I know. You probably know more languages than I do, so have fun taking a crack at it. 

Also, I’ll have you know that I did nothing untoward in my cell, thank you. It’s the cleanest space because it’s the only spot their shoes don’t touch when they come in to bring you stuff or deep clean. It’s not rocket science, JAMES. Accusing me of being some kinda fiend. I’ll have you know that I discreetly jerked off just as much as most other folks probably do when they’re imprisoned in a circular pit with clear walls showing off their every move: ONE TIME. And it was FRANKLY NOT ENJOYABLE BECAUSE ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WAS WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF ANYONE (read: Sam) KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING.

So yeah. Shut it, punk-ass. Also, you don’t actually have to stop calling me names as long as you say them with a suffering tone of endearment in your head when you write them down.

Since you’ve been MIA for a bit (which, no apologies necessary and all that, but maybe I did think for a second that you weren’t gonna write back and maybe, MAYBE some folks around here would imply that I was in a mopey mood for like, two seconds, which was confusing for them because I was a good little uncrackable agent-buddy and didn’t say a word, thank you very much) let me catch you up: In the three months since you’ve been in your own island paradise, Steve has remained Stubborn and Beefy, but I think the angst is starting to slooooowly dial down a bit. He’s one of those people who actually likes exercise, I think? And Sam has him drinking these smoothies and going to virtual VA meetings, since he can’t leave the compound. Turns out ‘Bucky’ might not have been the only one he had to reminisce with after all. Hopefully that means you can be off the hook a little bit. 

As for me, well. I am not a masochist, so I’m not fucking pleased about getting up at 5:30 in the morning on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. That’s me answering your question, by the way, and even if you don’t, I sure as shit am going to imagine that you’re gonna get the guards to wake your ass up now to ‘work out with me’. It’ll give me something nice to think about as I’m being tortured by our ‘team’ of ‘friends’. The drills I’ve been running with the baby agents have been fun, though. I’ve only gotten shot once! And an arrow graze to the hip ain’t bad. ‘Tis but a scratch. (I won’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen down leading morning drills, though. That’s not important). 

Maybe you can help me out once you’re outta there. Your aim has to be almost on par with mine, right? And I bet you’d be a good teacher. One look from you with that hilarious murder-glare from your letter would keep the fresh-faces in line. Thanks for that, I did laugh. The coffee I snorted up my nose is still lingering in my sinus cavity, I think. 

Speaking of which, do you ever think about what you wanna do once you get out of there? Cuz I know you’re going to make it out of there in one piece, safe and sound, regardless of what kind of state the guards might think you’re in. You’re not alone, actually, and I’ve decided to completely ignore what you wrote about not having any contact with people you’d consider friends. It’s too late. You’ve entered the lowest circle of Hell, James, my guy - you are now Friends with Clint Barton. 

Anyway, I got off track. 21 months and counting until you’re technically a free man. By the time you’re out, we’ll be free to get the fuck out of the compound, too. I just realized that I’ve been figuring you’d join us on the team, but holy presumption, Hawkeye, fuck.

Alright, though. It’s a Thursday night at like 2:30 in the futzin’ morning — wait, that means it’s technically Friday, fuck — and I have to get up and RUN in like three hours. This letter probably could have waited until tomorrow to write, but I dunno. I got your letter yesterday and felt too keyed up to sleep thinking about it until I just gave up and got my ass out of bed. My brain feels less frazzled now. Hey, maybe sit down and write if you start to feel panicky? You can write to me, if you want. You don’t even gotta send it, maybe it’ll help to just write shit out and know that if I were there with you I’d be happy to listen.

Or, don’t, if that’s fuckin’ weird. ~~Sorry~~

Night, James.

~~-Bart~~ \- Clint 

PS: If you’re becoming addicted to Supernatural while in the throes of self-imprisonment, you’re going to just keep regretting all of your life choices. Especially if you’re catching episodes past, like, season 6. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve watched all eleven seasons because I love trash and hot men, and am invested in the well-being of every idiot in that show. Also, yes, if you are anyone, you are Castiel, and now that comparison is forever in my brain, so thank you for THAT. You’re a fucking menace. 

PPS: Thanks for telling me who you are, and who you aren’t. It’s kinda really… good, getting to know you. 


	15. Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phewwwww this has taken me a while! Life is crazy (as usual) and I'm finally, officially starting my Master's degree come March!  
> But you probably don't really care about that. So here it is! Finally! Bucky's next letter to Clint! 
> 
> As usual, thanks so much for sticking around and sorry for the wait! But neither of us will ever abandon this baby of ours!  
> \- HGWinterdude

  
  


~~Disappointed, but not surprised,~~

Clint,

You know, it’s… I think it helps that you’re not a therapist. Less judgement and... maybe a little more shared life experience or something like that. I mean I don’t think any therapist in the world has been imprisoned on the Raft and knows that there are fourteen slats under the bed which, maybe will help me more than just counting to ten in my head. Maybe it’ll be ~~our~~ my new thing. Fuck counting to ten when you can go all the way up to 14. 

But you are, you know? Helping I mean. Somehow it feels like there is a story hidden behind that. Wanting to feel small, hidden away somewhere that’s hard to get access to. But I’m not asking. I’m not. I don’t think it’s my place to make you talk about personal shit. It’s not like _I_ am a therapist or in any way equipped to… I don’t know… help? And poking at a hornet’s nest like that without actually being there to… (idk this analogy is dumb but I’m sticking with it now) kill all the angry hornets trying to kill us, seems like a dick move. And I’m trying to not… be that at the moment. I’m not sure if I’m succeeding. Still feeling bad (but not bad enough to change it) for not writing to Stevie. Am I a bad person? For… fuck. Let’s pretend all that other shit isn’t there already guaranteeing I am a bad person, but just… that one, small thing. For leaving Steve hanging. For making you lie to your friends. ~~For deciding to be here instead of being with you guys.~~

You don’t have to answer that by the way. I guess it was more of a rhetorical question anyway. But paper doesn’t blush. So it… I think it felt okay to write it down. To put it out there for you to read. Without you having to look me in the eye. For me to see you pretend I’m not. 

It’s… I don’t know, Barton, I think today’s a not so good day. I’m sorry if this is not what you expected to read after your last letter. I keep stopping. Putting it off to keep writing, waiting for a better day, okay, maybe an _okay_ day, but I don’t want to go MIA after every letter you send. I don’t want to be the reason you somehow seem a little mopey to your teammates. 

But… I’ve got to give you that. I don’t think I’d have tried even once. I mean. What if Wanda had seen you? Would you be able to live with that? Knowing that you traumatised her like that. But seriously? You made me laugh there. 

Thanks, Clint. 

Christ, of course the punk likes to exercise. He has to make up for all the lost time when he was that sickly, little runt that couldn’t run for a minute without almost dying of an asthma attack. But it’s… good to hear. That he’s ‘dialing down the angst’. Don’t you ever tell him I said that, but Sam’s one of the good ones. I think he’s helping Steve a lot. He’s… he got a way to get through to him, you know? Maybe because they got the same brand of stupid going on. 

Speaking of stupid. I’ve got the guards to wake me up at 5:30 three times a week now. And why the fuck am I even doing that to myself? I think I really hated that in the army. It’s not like I need as much sleep anymore but when it takes me so long to actually fall asleep, why do I let them wake me after like… half an hour? That’s hardly a glorified nap. But I’d feel guilty if I skipped out on our workouts. So 5:30 it is. And I guess the routine helps. To keep track of time.

I… I don’t think I’ve planned that far ahead. I just… it feels so far away still. Like some weird dream. It feels like there’s gonna be something. Changing, I don’t know. Why would they let me go in 21 months? How is this enough for the last seven decades? Who would let someone like me out without… supervision? A contingency plan. I don’t think I’ll believe it until they actually open that cell for good and... Stevie comes to pick me up. Don’t think I’ll even believe it then. 

If I can think of something that I want to do? You’ll be the first to know, okay? 

But, what about you? You were retired. Came back into this whole mess because Stevie asked you to. (Which, I’m sorry okay? That you got sucked into this because of me.) Guess you didn’t really think about being locked up here or at the compound for so long. Are you gonna be on the team once you are allowed to leave? 

I actually took that advice. Starting to write when I started to feel like I was slipping. It’s probably why this letter is a little all over the place. I keep adding to this. When I’m feeling pretty low and… somehow I don’t want to hide that from you? Am I afraid it might scare you off a litte bit? Yeah, yeah I am, but… I’m tired of hiding pieces of myself. Or… what feels like myself in that very moment. I… it feels… good. It feels good that there’s someone who gets to know me. The real new me, I mean. Or… whatever all of this rambling is. So, thank you. For listening. For wanting to get to know me, Clint. It means a lot.

Still sorry for keeping you up this long. (Even though I’m glad you wrote back so quickly.)

-James

PS.: Shouldn't you leave those ‘tis but a scratch’ jokes to the guy who actually lost an arm? Or maybe that was just a flesh wound. Come on. Be impressed that I got that one. Supernatural, huh? Okay. Good to know. Also, about my life choices? It’s not like I’m not already regretting most of them, so what are a couple more? ~~You know what I don’t regret? Writing to you.~~ I like it. I think. Would you also describe me as an ‘attractive crying man’? Or would I be the scary man doing the stabbing? (Again, no need to answer that. Rhetorical question. Just wanted to let you know which episode we watched last, just in case you wanted to watch with us.)

PPS.: Why does it feel so nice (to read) you calling me James? ~~Why do I want to hear you say it so badly? And why does it feel all warm in my chest when I think about making you laugh?~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my? Is Bucky... maybe already feeling things? Who knows????


End file.
